


A Little Tender Love And Care

by ambersagen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Bathing, But not sexual, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, Getting Together, Hand Feeding, M/M, Manipulative Peter Hale, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Peter Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Pre Relationship, Semi-Sane Peter Hale, Steter Secret Santa 2020, Tenderness, Traumatized Stiles Stilinski, in relation to general Peter being a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: Peter's back from the dead.Stiles is fresh from a beatdown.It's the perfect opportunity for a certain half mad wolf to get what he wants this time around.Luckily for Stiles what Peter wants is what the boy needs.
Comments: 60
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Booknerd0612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booknerd0612/gifts).



> Here it is, the start of my Steter Secret Santa fic 2020. *pops champagne* Let us pray it gets posted before New Years. My internet is spotty so is a bit up in the air.  
> For my giftee angel-n-darkness on tumblr and also booknerd0612 on tumblr, who gave me the original prompt back when covid first started (its not post nogi but I hope it hits all the good buttons for the care and keeping of a Stiles!)

The moon overhead was almost a perfect crescent, a beautiful picture in the sky, but it cast only the barest glow on the earth below. But it was a long time since even creatures of the night relied on something as inconsistent as moonlight to do their work under. Tonight’s business was taking place under the dull yellow glow of a few neglected public light posts, perfectly adding to the very sketchy aesthetic of the dirty deal about to go down.

The trunk of Derek’s overcompensating sports car gave a lurching shake as the person inside objected to their situation. Well. One of the people inside the trunk objected. The other one was not in a position to complain about anything ever again.

Peter wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

“You said you have a proposition for us, Hale?”

Deucalion, Alpha of Alphas and so much more, looked over the two remaining Hales with a bland expression that Peter almost envied. He personally preferred for his enemies to know how far he felt they were beneath him, but there was something deliciously maddening about Deuc’s ability to remain unfazed and Britishly mild about even his worst enemies, as he showed tonight.

“Of course. I wouldn’t be wasting your time or my own for anything less, and the situation as it stands doesn’t exactly provide time for catching up with old friends.”

“Alas,” Deuc agreed, blandly.

“I have a rogue pup who is a risk to himself and everyone he comes in contact with." Peter stated, getting right down to business. His wolf was a tense, unhappy thing pacing the cage of his mind, and it would be in everyone's best interest to get this over with before he lost patience. His control wasn't what it used to be, before his untimely death. "He’s a frat boy nightmare of a selfish brat and for reasons I won’t go into detail about I cannot even remotely be connected with his death so, unfortunately, I need him to survive." He sneered, a growl barely suppressed. "Which, unfortunately for him, means he needs discipline and a pack somewhere not here. We would be greatly in your debt if you could take him off our hands.”

“In my debt? So you aren’t looking to make a trade tonight?" Deucalion seemed genuinely surprised, although Peter couldn't imagine what the wolf had thought would happen when he received contact from the once powerful, then completely decimated Hale pack after years of scared silence. "I was led to believe you had something to offer me, not just a favor to beg.”

“I don’t beg. But, I never said we came empty handed. We have a gift for you, something I’m hoping you will appreciate enough to make my little problem go far away.”

“ _He_ has a gift for you,” Derek grunts, unhappy to the bitter end. “I’m just delivering.”

He popped the trunk, hand shooting out to drag Scott out before he could attempt any escape on his own. Scott objected, of course, at the rough handling. Or maybe he was objecting to the wolfsbane ropes binding him firmly from ankle to shoulder. Or maybe he was objecting to having been stuffed inside the unbearably small trunk space that he was forced to share with the still oozing body of what used to be Gerard Argent.

Or maybe he was complaining about the weather. It wasn’t Peter’s favorite time of year either but you didn’t hear him whining.

“Sorry for the mess, but we figured it was prudent to call you while he was still...fresh.” Peter gave a not so nice grin, but it was lost on the Alpha, who was staring at the body with glowing red eyes and gripping his cane in a claw tipped death grip.

“Is that?” Kali, Deucalion’s second in command, broke off her obvious question with a grimace as Peter delicately hauled the black goo covered body out by the edges of the tarp Derek had laid down in a futile effort to keep the mess contained. It was a miracle that Derek had agreed to this at all, but even newly resurrected Peter could tell Derek had changed, possibly for the better. For sure, he understood now what it felt like, to be an Alpha with no Betas. 

A wolf with no pack.

It had, possibly, mellowed him out some in regards to his once murdered now alive again uncle. At the very least the most recent betrayal in Derek’s sad life had taught him to do what was necessary to keep his pack safe.

“We will take the pup.” Deucalion’s voice brokered no argument, even if Kali did shoot him an annoyed look at not being consulted. “Put him in the van. I trust you have a dossier for me? As a minor he can’t just disappear off to rehab like grown adults so often do.”

“I have everything you need on him, and his mother has already tentatively agreed to having him mentored out to another pack.” Peter said smoothly, ignoring Derek’s scowl at the mention of Melissa, who had not so much agreed as capitulated to their demands. She was a smart woman who knew that her kid was in over his head and she realized pretty quickly that the only way he was walking away alive was if he left town.

“You have a deal, Hale. I appreciate your …gesture.” Deucalion said, stepping forward and tipping the dead man’s head over with the tip of one expensive leather shoe to stare blankly into the sky.

The moon was slowly obscured by clouds as the wolves concluded their business below. A struggling Scott was loaded unceremoniously into the back of the van and the door closed on his muffled yelling with an innocent click of the child safety locks. Kali rewrapped the remains of the once infamous hunter back in the tarp and dragged it along to the back of the van, where it was also removed with little fanfare. 

Derek and Peter watched the Alpha pack leave in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

"I still don't trust you," Derek said petulantly, but there was little heat in it. Peter didn't bother to respond. It didn't matter really. Trust or no, they both knew Derek would rely on him and allow him to do as he wished. There was an understanding now, and Peter wasn't particularly interested in currying favor with the Alpha when he could guilt his way to Derek's acceptance instead. He had his pride, and he didn't trust his nephew either. There was a lot of work to be done between him and the Alpha, none of which interested him now that his ultimate goal was in sight. Who cared about unreliable, angst ridden former pack betrayers when there was a shiny new and currently vulnerable pack member dangling before him?

He gave his nephew a sarcastic salute and left without another look back. He had a sarcastic little spark to woo to his side. And this time all the pieces were properly in place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what happened with the posted draft but it was all hecked up so i reposted this chapter

The Stilinski household was silent as the grave, the night slipping past late as Peter approached it with sure steps. The lights were all off, giving the home a vaguely chilling, abandoned sort of look. With the grass growing long and weeds running rampant, and the driveway empty of any cars, one might have thought the house unlived in, at least for the night. Perfect for breaking and entering, if one felt inclined.

But as empty as the building appeared, Peter could pick up on one irregular heartbeat, and it drew him in like a siren’s song.

Following the faint scent of other wolves Peter gracefully scaled the west wall of the home, making note of the broken window latch even as it made his entry into his boy’s room all the faster. It wasn’t safe to have broken locks in a town like this, not with enemies like theirs. 

Like a shadow, he slipped into the room, pleased and annoyed to find himself right where he wanted to be. It really wasn’t safe. Although, he supposed the worst had already happened, and the evidence of the pack’s failure was currently sleeping in a tight little lump hidden deep under a pile of blankets on the bed.

“Stiles.” Peter called, voice soft enough not to startle him violently into wakefulness, but firm enough to make it clear he would not be ignored. No, there had already been far too much ignoring and avoidance when it came to Stiles.  _ Worthless cowards _ . How dare they abandon his boy, leaving him out on the edges of the pack like some sort of scavenger. What the hunters had done, taking a member of their pack with impunity, he would never have allowed had he been animate at the time. It was an insult, a  _ declaration of war  _ that he had returned with extreme prejudice. But it still didn’t feel like enough.  _ He would kill them, rip them to pieces. _ If they wanted a rabid monster in their midst then  _ he would remind them why he was to be feared _ .

Peter took a deep breath, then winced as the scent of unwashed hair and sweat soaked sheets burned his nose.

“If you don’t get up I will be forced to get you up myself,” he warned the lump under the blankets. Despite the warning his hand continued to rub gently where he guessed the boy’s back was under all the bedding. “Come on. You reek, and I have a surprise that can only be shared with good, clean boys.”

The lump shifted a bit, but his stubborn human refused to come out.

He sighed.

“I’m going to retrieve some refreshments. If you aren’t at least vertical by the time I return then I will be pulling you out and burning the bedding.” He paused, a critical eye (and nose) taking in the mess. “Actually, I think I will be disposing of them regardless. Now get up. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, to drag Stiles deep into his den, to rub himself all over the boy until the scent of despair was covered with pack and safety.

_ He needs to eat, _ he reminded his wolf -himself- firmly. From the state of things Stiles hadn’t done more than walk to the toilet and back since the fight. Ever since the pack had basically abandoned him, had assumed he was in on Scott’s little Judas play…

_ Kill them _ ? His wolf perked up, almost as distracted as the boy he loved often became. Was it any wonder that he felt so connected, so drawn to him? Drawn even from the grave, where half his disconnected fragments of dream memories seemed to loop back to the idea that he had bitten the wrong boy...

Food. He needs liquids and sustenance from something without blue and red food dye. Feed him up.  _ The pup was too skinny. Won't last the winter the way he is now. Feed him till he is round and sleepy, then hide him in the den. _

Yeah, sure.  _ You caveman _ . He spares a thought to be amused at his own, baser instincts. Food, den, pack, sex. His wolf had simple desires under all that blood lust. It just had to be nudged from time to time in the right direction.

A quick trip out the front door and a moment to turn on the porchlight brought the house back to life, and he made sure to casually pull the various shopping bags slowly out of his practical cover car. He had every right to be here and he made sure to project that to the several older residents who were no doubt spying on him through their lacy curtains.

In the kitchen he sorted through various bags full of fresh food and many other items he had brought over after he had discovered what those worthless hunters and pathetic mutts had done to his brave boy.

Really, it had taken all his newly rediscovered self control not to savage Derek’s pups when he heard how they cut Stiles out after escaping from the Argent home. Even if their story collaborated with his own information that Stiles didn’t know anything about Scott’s deception and ended up swaying Derek, he would never forgive any of them for not checking on the boy. They owed him everything and gave him less than nothing, leaving the door wide open and vulnerable to someone who might want to stroll in and take their place in Stiles’ life. 

They had only themselves to blame really. If they wanted Peter to stay away they should have taken better care of their human.

He pulled mango juice from where he had left it earlier to chill in a bag with ice, pouring out a glass and adding it to a plate of crackers and cheese. He was almost positive Stiles hadn't eaten in days, so he felt safer testing the boy’s stomach with a light snack for now. He also grabbed a bag from another store, full of bathing supplies, not a 3 in 1 label in sight.

He left the majority of the items he brought, passing the surprise he had set up in the living room with a smirk. He headed back upstairs with his tray, a lovely wooden thing with hand painted flowers trailing across its surface. He didn't take it to the bedroom however, turning instead towards the master bathroom. 

He had been delighted to discover, while snooping of course, that at one point someone (most likely the late Mrs. Stilinski) had renovated the master bath, turning what should have been bland suburbia into an almost luxurious, stand alone bathtub with matching vanities and even a padded bench and dressing area.

It was any woman's paradise, and would fit Peter's needs nicely.

Leaving the tray of food on the bench he went to retrieve his boy.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Stiles upright, less pleased to find him staring blankly at the room, seemingly unseeing and slouched over like his own weight was crushing him.

"There you are," he said, approaching the bed and casually reaching out to brush a wild lock out of the teen’s tired eyes. The boy's hair was getting long, changing his Bambi-eyed look into something more fae.

A hand shot out, grabbing Peter’s wrist with nails that bit deep into his skin at the force of tbe grip. With a wordless snarl Stiles ripped the arm away from his face, surging out of bed to throw himself bodily into Peter. 

Surprise at the sudden turn around wasn’t enough to throw Peter off, and with a twist he had used the boy’s momentum to toss him to the floor, dropping to his knees and taking advantage of the blankets that followed him to the ground to subdue Stiles, and more importantly the wolfsbane dipped kitchen knife he gripped desperately in his left hand. 

“Now now, that’s no way to thank someone who’s helping you, Stiles.” He scolded, mildly enjoying the death glare the boy was giving him from below him. It was pleasant to already enjoy the way Stiles struggled under him, just short of writhing where he was pinned by thick, strong thighs. But now wasn’t the time for that kind of play. His boy needed many things before they would have time to indulge in those things. There would be time later when Stiles was clean, had food in him, and wasn’t practically fainting from exhaustion.

“Let go of the knife, Stiles. No one is here to hurt you.”

Stiles gazed up at him with eyes so wide it looked like it hurt. “You’re here!” He objected, trying again to buck Peter off him.

“Yes. Very good. Nice to know your eyes are still working. But I stand by what I said. No one is here to hurt you. In fact, those who would hurt you have been taken care of.” Peter preened, enjoying the look of exhausted confusion on his pup. “So think on that a moment. I know you can parse out what that means for your safety tonight.” He took the knife from now loose fingers as Stiles seemed to process this. Or perhaps the boy was too dizzy and weak from his sudden assault after days of convalescing to move himself now. 

“I’ll be right back. I have something that will make you feel much better.” He said, giving his boy a fond pat on the cheek with the hand not holding the knife, before rising back to his feet and leaving the boy still staring up at him in a daze from his pile on the ground. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im not dead. life is hard and im out about 10k USD and everything is a mess but heading toward the better. I love yall.

"Here," Peter lifted Stiles' hand, placing the glass of juice in it, and holding it there until he reluctantly took over. He hadn’t done much between Peter leaving and returning, besides having moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He still had a wild, distant look on his bruised and battered face, the bright red and purple marks standing out starkly against his pale skin. It made Peter’s claws itch to maim whoever had dared to touch what was his.

"Good boy.” He said, once he was sure the drink wasn’t about to meet an unfortunate end on the carpet. Not a bit of his dark, wild thoughts broke through his mask of caring and mild interest. Not that Stiles would have notice, dissociating as the boy clearly was. “Drink this, slowly." He watched Stiles until the boy finally raised the glass to his lips. The blank look broke to allow a flicker of surprise, and Stiles took an enthusiastic gulp before noticing Peter's smug look. He scowled at the older man.

"This is my favorite." He accused, voice rough from disuse. Yet he continued to drink, hiding behind the glass when Peter simply winked and turned to dig through his dresser.

Peter kept his complaints over the available selection internal, sensing that criticizing Stiles would not be a productive venture at the moment. No matter. There was nothing stopping him from simply replacing the boy's wardrobe at a later date.

He settled for a well loved hoodie and a pair of sweats, draping them over one shoulder as he turned to Stiles, who had finished half his drink and yet still seemed pretty out of it.

"Ok, up you go. Don't spill your juice." Peter said, and before Stiles could question it he scooped an arm under the boy's legs, other arm bracing his back as he lifted the boy in the crook of his arm. The ridges of the boy’s spine sharply prominent under his touch and he suppressed the growl that threatened to break through and reveal how affected he was by the state of the boy. 

It was being swept off his feet that finally got a reaction from the human, a petulant glare he turned on Peter as he clutched his glass. "The heck are you doing?" He croaked out, squirming slightly before realizing that making the wolf accidentally drop him would most likely end up with both of them covered in juice and bruises.

"You didn't seem inclined to get up, so I thought I would give you a hand." He said, putting on his most innocent face. 

"Why? And where are we going?" Stiles demanded. He was squirming around now, and Peter was treated to a close up view as annoyance slipped into confusion on the boy’s face as they entered the master bath.

"We are going to get you clean.” He said, by way of explanation. “Now," he set the boy down carefully on the padded dressing bench by the tub so as not to jostle him and spill his drink. " _ You  _ are going to finish your juice, and eat your snack." He gave a pointed look to the tray of food. "Eat slowly, no point in eating if you bring it all up again."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stiles demanded. The boy was all wide eyes framed by deep bruises, practically swaying where he sat, still clutching his juice with both hands like a child. 

Peter felt a wave of fondness well up, and he didn't hesitate to reach out, patting the boy's head condescendingly.

"I'm getting you a bath of course. You're disgusting."

And he did just that, turning taps until the water coming out was just the right side of scalding, ignoring Stiles as he swapped out the toiletries for his quality supplies, unceremoniously duping the cheap bottles in the far sink. Eventually everything was perfect, and Stiles had apparently lost what energy had momentarily fueled him, giving up on questioning what was going on here in favor of finishing his drink and a few crackers. By the way his hands shook as he picked at crackers and cheese Peter would say it had been a full day, if not more, since he last ate.

The smell of lavender filled the room as the water level in the tub rose, courtesy of the bath oils he generously added. Once the tub was full and he had finished setting out all the necessary things (loofah, nail brush, four kinds of soaps and conditioner) Peter began to strip.

A strangled squeak made his lips twitch, and he didn't bother hiding his smirk as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head. He was proud of his body, especially in consideration of the years spent as a vegetative invalid and his time spent...dead. He knew he was attractive and he saw nothing wrong with people admiring him for it.

"What-" Stiles sputtered, finally setting his glass down with an alarming force and attempting to stand, possibly to leave. All too easily Peter pushed the boy back, raising an eyebrow as the boy practically choked on his own tongue at the sight of the older man dropping to his knees before him.

"I know your clothes are just as filthy as you are, but civilized people usually take their clothes off to wash separately from them."

"OK but, what -what?" Stiles flailed, and Peter's wolf chuffed at the return of the boy’s spark, taking in the rising blush on his cheeks and the suddenly energetic movements.

"Mind out of the gutter, Stiles. This shirt is worth more than your entire wardrobe. I am not ruining it with the bath oil you will no doubt spill at some point."

Stiles spluttered, weakly kicking at him when Peter began to remove the boy’s socks and pants, but even that much movement made him wince and freeze in pain, which Peter took advantage of to finish undressing him even as a rage of bloodlust rose to  _ demand _ he wipe out the rest of the Argents this minute for what they had dared to do to his pack. 

But he restrained himself. 

Stiles was naked, but there was something so innocent, breakable about the way he perched bare on the seat, skin as pail as snow where it wasn't a mottled canvas of reds, purples, and blues. He was shivering slightly, goosebumps breaking out on his bare arms despite the growing warmth of the room from the fragrant steam filling the room from the hot water. 

His eyes were glazed, having checked out again sometime during the undressing, and Peter was sure if he made any move to turn this sexual, if he were to reach out and touch, rub and lick and take everything he wanted from his boy Stiles would let it happen. Because he wasn’t here. His mind was away, hidden somewhere safe or hiding from whatever memories were haunting him in this moment, and Peter didn’t like that at all. Stiles should be _here_ , in this moment, _with_ _him_. 

He needed to do better if Stiles still felt so threatened he was protecting himself like this. 

So there were no straying touches as he helped the boy into the tub, his hands moved with professional intent as he began soaping up a hand towel, pouring lavender water over each limb before gently taking it in in hand, skinny arms, fingers, jutting shoulder blades and black spotted back. He washed each stretch of exposed skin with firm care, stopping often to rinse and resoap the towel. He rubbed slow circles, massaging blood back into stiff limbs. Each bruise, green and purple and red, were washed with gentle fingertips, lightly inspected for clotting or broken skin. 

Throughout these ablutions Stiles stared blankly ahead, uncaring as he allowed himself to be manipulated like a doll. 

Peter drained the tub, letting the stale and used water flow away as he took small brushes to the boy’s fingertips, painstakingly removing old blood and dirt from nails and skin. 

Stiles watched each movement, eyes tracking the back and forth motion of the brush as Peter washed him, but he remained silent.

Peter plugged the drain again, refiling the tub and adding more oils. And finally, Stiles began to relax. As the warm water rose again his shoulders began to drop, legs sinking under the water as he leaned slowly back against Peter’s firm hold. 

The wolf smiled, satisfied to see his ministrations finally managing to chip through the shock and malaise the boy had been living in since the attack. 


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles dozed peacefully, reclining back under sweet scented water that curled up from the tub in soothing whisps of steam.

Satisfied that his pack was comfortable and safe, for the moment at least, Peter took the opportunity to let the boy relax as he moved on to the next vital step in his plans for the evening.

The first thing he did was strip the bed.

Usually he would be loath to lose the ingrained scent of Stiles already in the sheets, but it was unfortunately clear to his nose that the boy hadn't bathed since  _ that night _ . Sour notes of stress, fear, and vague illness lingered in the air even after he had taken the whole pile down to the laundry room. Luckily he had just the thing to fix that, and he waited no time pulling out all the items he had brought for just this purpose.

He hadn't been idle in between hunting down Gerard and setting his long term plan into motion. Just because he had things to set up before he could properly come care for his boy, didn't mean Stiles had ever been far from his mind. In the three days he had been alive again Peter had not only devised and carried out a plan that removed every major obstacle between him and the packmate of his desires, he had also found the time to thoroughly scent pillows, blankets, memory foam toppers, and more, all in preparation for this first nest. 

The nostalgia of it all made him pause, the small and obviously teenaged-boy-inhabited room before him could easily have been any of the numerous pack rooms at the Hale home. 

His wolf gave a long, animal sigh from his unconscious. A huff of longing that made his human-self sigh in agreement. 

He had been the fun uncle back then, too young to be a threatening and rule enforcing  _ adult _ , but old enough to garner respect from the other pups. They always came to Peter when they wanted to build a nest that was a little bigger and more self-indulgent, and almost always full of more snacks than was healthy, than the adult wolves would have liked. 

Things had been very different before the fire. Back then he had a place, a  _ role _ to fill in his pack, and life was good. And now he was so close to having something like that again. If he were to lose it now, after everything he went through to get to this point, the carnage he would inflict would make his first murder spree look like a love tap.

The sound of water moving in the bathroom brought him out of his memories, and he gave the nest a critical look over. He had moved the mattress to the floor, propping the bed frame against the wall, out of the way so that he could expand the pitiful twin bed to something more worthy of a nest. He couldn't wait to get his boy to a den just for  _ them _ , a safe space for their pack alone, but he had to tread lightly until Stiles was made to understand how things had changed. 

For now he would play nice, get the boy used to the idea that Peter wasn't here to murder him and that Derek was going to be a better alpha. 

_ He will be, or we will take it back. No more unworthy Alphas _ , his wolf swore. A pledge Peter was perfectly happy to make.

Satisfied that his building skills hadn't atrophied after all these lonely years, Peter slipped a set of soft pajamas out of the bags he brought and went to go fetch his boy before Stiles could become a prune, or drown from sheer exhaustion. 

He regretted the circumstances that left the boy so alone these last few days, even as they further justified the actions he took. 

Not one of Stiles’ inner circle had proved themselves worthy of the clever, loyal boy. They had their chance to support him, care for him, and this was the result of that trust wasted on people to self centered to see a good thing when they had it. And now Peter considered himself free to do whatever it took to convince Stiles he was better than anyone the boy had ever met. 

He arrived back in the bathroom to catch the idiot just as his legs gave out and he slipped from his precarious position half in-half out of the tub. Tutting disapprovingly at his silly packmate he wasted no time or attention on the boy’s protests as he retrieved the fluffy towels, which of course had been scented powerfully enough by Peter that any wolf in a twenty foot radius would know this was his property, and began drying Stiles himself. 

“Fuck, knock it off,” Stiles grumbled, and Peter grinned at the genuine pout the boy gave him as he snatched the towel from the wolf. “Stop touching my junk! I can dry myself off. Get out.” The boy’s face was a delightful pink as he pushed Peter out of the bathroom with all the strength of a wet kitten. Peter went, pleased to see some life had returned to the spark. 

With a chuckle, he headed back to the bedroom, although he kept one ear perked for any sounds of distress or further slippery accidents. He trusted that Stiles could probably dry and dress himself before collapsing completely, but he would bet money the boy didn't have energy for anything more than that.

He stared at the space, taking in the nest, the laundry he had kicked to the far side of the room to deal with later, and casually wondering if he should crack open the window to let in fresher air and let out the lingering smell of despair. 

With deliberate steps he approached the most interesting part of the room, taking up most of a portable whiteboard and half a wall, the complex tangle of strings and photos mixed with notes in a clear but rushed hand, the murder board was a fascinating look into a brilliant mind. It made Peter tingle with anticipation, knowing he would soon have this unwavering dedication and more if all went according to plan.

Down the hall the door to the bathroom opened, and the faint scent of lavender poured out into the house. He could track his boy by sound alone as Stiles cautiously returned to the bedroom, his heart a steady thumping that soothed the savage and lonely beast that lived inside Peter.

“Well, you can make space on your wall for the next big bad,” Peter noted. He turned away from the Murder board, idly running his hands along the edges of books and shelf tops, marking the room with his scent in every corner he could get at without raising suspicion. It had the added benefit of putting him in the perfect position to observe his boy’s reaction to his news without being obvious about it. “I’m sure,” he said, dragging out the syllables as he wrinkled his nose at the questionable action figure decor on the closest shelf, “That there’s something spectacularly evil and strange waiting for its turn to terrorize Beacon Hills now that Gerard Argent is dead.”

It was as if something in the universe shuddered as soon as the words left his lips. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Peter tensed as the room shuddered with a sudden electrical frisson. Stiles hadn’t moved, but somehow, even standing barefoot in pjs, hair still damp from the bath, there was something intensely dangerous about him in that moment. A building charge like static on the carpet was belied by the completely blank look in his eyes. 

Cautiously, Peter took a step forward, ignoring all the instincts that told him to run away, bear his throat and get the hell out. Instead he reached forward, pressing a careful palm to the boy’s tired and bruised face. 

His boy wasn’t vacant, not glazed over or dazed in his expression, but rather, just intensely _not_ _there_.

“Stiles? While your little power display has me feeling tingly right down to my toes for so many reasons, I don’t think you’ll be very happy if you blow up your home, so let’s reign it in darling.”

Only the slightest tightening of the fist still holding the damp towel showed the boy had heard, and nothing changed the charging sense of danger building in the small room, and Peter couldn’t stop the growl that was rising in his throat in response.

“Stiles! Gerard is dead. I killed him myself. You are safe, we are all safe. He won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

With a sharp hiss, all the air and fight left Stiles in a shocked rush. Like a newborn colt freshly dropped to the ground he fell forward limply into Peter’s ready arms, and they tumbled together onto the bed. 

The room went dark with an inaudible crack that Peter felt in his bones, all the power sucking out of the room as if a switch had been flipped. The only light remaining emanated in a soft green glow from a few old, glow in the dark stars clinging to the ceiling and the dim glow of street lamps reaching through the curtains. The bed was shaking slightly under the pair of them, rocking in time to the muffled weeping of the boy in his arms. Shock, relief, horror, Peter couldn’t say which had triggered the meltdown. It didn’t seem like Stiles was inclined to share. But he hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t screamed at Peter to leave, or called him a monster, or a murderer. 

Warm, cotton covered skin pressed almost desperately back against the wolf as whatever emotions rolled and thrashed their way through Stiles in the dark. It was the simplest thing, and it cost Peter nothing to retreat, to pull back into that sleepy corner of his mind where he could let his human side drift as he let his Wolf to the surface. 

With a contented rumble, the wolf embraced his little spark, curling around his packmate as he soothed the boy down from cathartic breakdown into true, restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap.  
> I hope you all are doing well. This fic has finally inspired me to write again after a LONG hard 2020. Its a bit late wrapping up due to an apartment move that's somehow stretched into a three month long nightmare but the good news is that its almost done and I have decided to make camp NaNo all about finishing Leporidae. 
> 
> I hope you look forward to it. 
> 
> If you want to come yell about Steter or other fandoms hop on over to tumblr where I'm ambersagen.tumblr.com  
> I love hearing from you all.


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